


Runaway

by thedevilstiger



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Homelessness, Trust Issues, female oc - Freeform, nat sees way too much of herself in iz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 00:21:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4585830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilstiger/pseuds/thedevilstiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Go after the blond on the left, sitting by himself. He’s lonely enough to exchange a pastry or two for conversation.”<br/>Izzy jumps slightly at the sound of the woman’s voice, narrowing her eyes at the smug expression she finds. “I don’t need his charity, nor do I need yours. Go find another bench to eat your seven dollar turnovers on,” she snaps back, scooting away from the redhead.<br/>The woman’s expression softens, and her smirk turns into a gentle smile. “They’re three dollar muffins, actually. My boyfriend’s addicted to them,” she responds fondly.<br/>--<br/>Otherwise known as the time Natasha grew too fond of a stubborn, homeless teenager and decided to take her under her wing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Runaway

As the chilly autumn wind blows through the park, Izzy pulls her knees up to her chest and heaves a sigh. She watches as a few golden leaves flutter to the ground, wondering how long it will be before the nights grow too cold for her to sleep outside. She’s been on the streets for two years, but that doesn’t mean she’s any fonder of retreating into the crowded shelters for the winter than she was when she was fifteen and new to everything. Judging by the amount of leaves still on the trees, she guesses she has about a month left, but the weather is never predictable and Mother Nature can be a cruel and unforgiving bitch.

  
From the bench where Izzy is sitting, she can see the sun peeking over the rooftop of the cafe across the street, growing darker orange as it continues on its descent. Even though it’s likely all in her head, she thinks the smell of pastries and coffee is drifting over the haze of car exhaust; her stomach growls in protest and begins to cramp, reminding Izzy that she hasn’t eaten in a few days. Her eyes scan the cafe’s patio, sizing up the customers and trying to zero in on someone she could manipulate into buying her something, but someone sits on the bench and interrupts her train of thought.

  
Immediately, Izzy shoots an icy look toward the newcomer, hoping to scare them off before they did something stupid, like try to conversate. When all she gets in response is a raised eyebrow and a small smirk, Izzy takes a closer look at her benchmate. The woman sitting beside her has hair as red as the fallen leaves and piercing green eyes; Izzy pretends not to notice the bag filled with pastries sitting on her lap. Izzy knows the calculated look on the woman’s face and realizes she wants a reaction, so the teen just turns her gaze back on the cafe and says nothing.

  
“Go after the blond on the left, sitting by himself. He’s lonely enough to exchange a pastry or two for conversation.”

  
Izzy jumps slightly at the sound of the woman’s voice, narrowing her eyes at the smug expression she finds. “I don’t need his charity, nor do I need yours. Go find another bench to eat your seven dollar turnovers on,” she snaps back, scooting away from the redhead.

  
The woman’s expression softens, and her smirk turns into a gentle smile. “They’re three dollar muffins, actually. My boyfriend’s addicted to them,” she responds fondly.

  
Scoffing, Izzy rolls her eyes. “Lady, I don’t give a rats ass what’s in that bag. Can’t you see I want to be left alone?”

  
Bright green eyes crinkle at the edges as the woman smiles even more. “No, you don’t,” she murmurs. Before Izzy can respond, the woman’s expression has smoothed into one of nonchalance. “I’m Natasha. And whether you like it or not, I’m going to sit here and have a conversation with you. I’m going to offer you one of these fancy three dollar muffins because Clint will have a stomachache if he eats all of these by himself, and I’ve seen the way you’ve been eyeing that cafe. I also know that you’re way too young to be out here alone, and I happened to see more than one creep eyeing you as they walked by. So what’s your name?”

  
Izzy blinks a few times, stunned by the outpour of words and the honesty behind them. It takes her a few moments to realize that Natasha has already pulled a muffin from the bag and is holding it out to her, and a few more moments for Izzy to decide whether or not she wants to accept the pastry. As she peels the wrapper from the muffin, Izzy glances back at the woman’s face and bites out, “I can take care of myself.”

  
Natasha just raises an eyebrow and smiles again, watching the teenager devour the muffin in a matter of seconds. “That’s a weird name. Kind of a mouthful. Is there a nickname you go by?” she murmurs, eyes sparkling.

  
Izzy shamelessly licks the crumbs from her fingers and rolls her eyes again. “Har har. You’re so funny,” she retorts.

  
“You can call me Nat. It’s what my friends call me,” Natasha replies, that fond smile still playing at her lips.

  
It makes Izzy’s stomach churn, and she feels her nerves turning to anger. “Just because you fed me a muffin doesn’t mean we’re besties. I’m not a stray dog, and you’re not going to lure me into trusting you. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk away right now,” she seethes.

  
Natasha’s smile just widens. “Did you just threaten me? That’s adorable,” she coos. For a horrifying moment, Izzy thinks the woman’s going to reach over and pinch her cheeks. Instead, Natasha stands up and sighs. “I suppose I should be on my way, though. Friends waiting for me and all that. I’ll see you later, alright? Stay safe. It’s supposed to get cold tonight,” she says.

  
Izzy watches her walk away, pulling her knees tighter against her chest and frowning. “Why can’t people just leave me alone? I thought New York would be a safe bet,” she grumbles. Quietly, she stomps on the ghost of warmth Natasha’s kindness had allowed to appear in Izzy’s heart. If Izzy tries really hard, she can even pretend she doesn’t recognize that the warm feeling is hope.


End file.
